The death of a soldier
by Ranger0fDiscord
Summary: One-shot of Cinna's torture and eventual death. All rights belong to the owners.


**This was created back in May 2012 as a SL (Storyline) for my Cinna RP on twitter. After months of deliberation and procrastination I am finally uploading it! Woo hoo! This is just a one shot, set during Catching Fire when Cinna was tortured and killed. (Although it is assumed he died during torture). I do not own Cinna or anything else, it belongs to Suzanne Collins**

I groan as I finally become conscious once more. As my eyes flutter open, I try to understand my surroundings. I am imprisoned. That of course, is obvious. I knew the moment I changed Katnisses wedding dress I would be imprisoned. So this is it then. My last hours of life. Locked and chained in a damp, rusty cell. As I try to move into a more comfortable position (Which turns out impossible as I am chained to the walls) I hear footsteps down the hall. With each second, they come closer to my location and I come closer to my impending death. I wonder briefly how they'll kill me. It won't be quick, that's for sure. Oh no, it will definitely be long and painful. I am still mulling over the possibilities when my cell is opened and a peacekeeper comes in, followed by Snow. I try my best to smile up at the twisted President, and bow the best I can.

"I am humbled that the great ruler of Panem come and oversee my torture." I say, faking happiness. This earns a sharp kick to the groin from the Peacekeeper, and a loud yelp from me.

"No, no. We want him conscious from this. And besides, I have a few questions for our lovely stylist." Snow hisses, looking down at me with contempt and anger. So, I am to be tortured and interrogated am I? Well they will get nothing from me.

"I refuse to tell you anything Snow." The words are hard to form, as my whole body is in pain. I'm unable to see his reaction, but I know he must be angry.

"We shall see about that." He says turning to the Peacekeeper "If he decides to reveal anything, let me know immediately. Otherwise, carry on." And with that, he walks out of the cell. I listen as his footsteps slowly grow quieter and quieter, until they disappear altogether. I try my best to look up at the Peacekeeper, my executioner. He grins evilly down back at me.

"What shall we do first?" He muses, bending down and gripping my face tightly in his hands. His breath is hot on my cheek, and smells sour and vile. Suddenly, he steps back, and raises his leg. "Just to make sure you don't try and get away." The leg descends with such force, that the bone in my leg shatters. He laughs loud and joyfully as I cry out in pain. "Thinking of spilling anything yet?" He asks happily. I shake my head, biting my lip. I can't, I won't tell them anything. "That's fine with me." He replies laughing even more. There's two soft clicks, and I fall down onto the damp floor. So that's why my leg had to be broken. To prevent me from attempting escape. Its not like it matters whether or not I survive this. I've filled my purpose, I have created the Mockingjay, the symbol of the rebellion. As long as she lives, the rebellion lives. And isn't that all that really matters? The Peacekeeper smiles down at me as he lowers himself down. "Give me your hand." He whispers vilely. I purposely ignore him. I refuse to give in, I never have and I won't now. "Very well then." He forcefully grabs my arm, jerking me forward so that my arm lays limp in his hand. I close my eyes, waiting for the pain. What will he do? Break my arms? Cut it off? There is a slash of pain and where my finger should be, there is just air. The scent of my own blood hits me, and I vomit on the damp floor. The peacekeeper curses under his breath and breaks my middle finger. Another cry of pain, another laugh. He cuts off both of my thumbs, my pinkies and breaks the rest of my fingers. The blood flows freely as drops my arm back on the ground. I face the fact that even if I survive this, even if I am rescued I will never be able to work with cloth again. Never again will I be able to draw the designs that flow through my head. A tear slowly falls down my cheek, but I am determined to not let anymore fall. This is my final act of defiance, of rebellion. My refusal to show emotion. I won't submit to the torture, and spill the secrets of the rebellion I have been a part of since a small child. I let out another sharp cry as my right arm is broken, shattered like my leg.

Hours pass, how many I can't tell at this point. I'm barely hanging on, the world is just a dull haze. What were once deft, nimble hands are now bloody, oozing, mutilated stumps. One eye is swollen shut, both legs are broken. I have lost so much blood, its a miracle I'm still living. But not for long. My mind races as thoughts, feelings, memories come back. I am saddened that I must end this way, but a part of me. A small part, nonetheless is glad that I at least said goodbye to Katniss. My life flashes before my eyes, and I relive the wonderful moments of my life. Katniss, as radiant as the sun on the chariot. Twirling for the Capitol. Turning into the mockingjay. My mother, teaching me the tools of the trade. 13, before the Pox outbreak. I close my eyes, and feel my life dully ebbing away, and as I drift into the sweet serenity of death the last thing I can see is my Mockingjay, as radiant as ever, twirling one last time for me.


End file.
